White Picket Fence
by Ami Ven
Summary: Very random drabble-thing, where McGee thinks about the future, Abby and white picket fences. Fluff, and mainly AU-ish.


NCIS- Abby and McGee Randomness

Title: White Picket Fence

Author: Ami Ven

Setting: nowhere, and probably AU

When he was younger, Tim McGee had overheard the girls in his class planning their weddings. It had seemed ridiculous at the time— they were twelve, and weren't even dating yet. Hidden behind his book, McGee heard them describe their dream wedding gowns, the flowers in the church, even the music that would be played. Sometimes, they would include dreams of their grown-up lives, neat little houses with a white picket fence, successful careers (they were modern girls, after all) and maybe a couple of kids.

Of course, boys never thought such silly things, but McGee couldn't help imagining his own neat house and white picket fence. It was a far-off thought, settling down, but the thought stuck in the back of his mind through high school, MIT, and even afterward. Not that he ever gave it much thought; being a federal agent and writing a mystery novel didn't leave much time for a social life.

Then, he met Abby Sciuto.

She was _nothing _like the sort of girl he'd though he would fall for. Abby wore skull-themed clothing, leather collars, and chains. She listened to music that he was sure could damage someone's eardrums, by bands with names that sounded more like they belonged to forensics than the musical world. She drank caf-pow! by the gallon, slept in a coffin, went to parties in cemeteries, and bowled with nuns.

But, she was also his equal with a computer (maybe even better, McGee thought sometimes, in awe, but then, he could use a gun…). She could keep up, step for step, with the techno-babble (as Tony called it), usually coming up with a brilliant solution just in the nick of time to solve a case. Which, McGee admitted to himself, he thought was just as attractive as any of those miniskirts Abby wore to work.

Before he knew it, McGee had gotten himself a tattoo, slept in the coffin, and actually found that he could tell the difference between ear-splitting bands.

"How did that happen?" he wondered aloud, in the middle of the forensic lab.

Abby took a long sip of her caf-pow!. "How did what happen, Timmy?"

"Me," he answered, then added, "Us. I mean, before I met you, Abs, I never knew that Brain Matter was a band, let alone any of their songs."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I could have guessed that. Left all alone, you listen to jazz, McGee."

He smiled. "Yeah, I guess I do. I just meant… well, I've been thinking about things, and we… You're just so loud, Abby- in a good way! I like that you're loud. I guess I've just been thinking about how things have changed for the better since I met you."

"That's sweet, Timmy," Abby told him. "In a really round-about sort of way."

Seeing that she was still watching him, sipping at her caf-pow!, McGee continued, "And I guess that got me thinking about the future. I know you're going to tell me that the future's never certain, and that there's a hundred different things that could happen to either one of us, but I think that some things are worth a risk."

McGee paused, then began pacing the space between Abby's machines. "And I know that you've said that you don't want to get married, Abby. A couple of years ago, maybe, I would have argued with you, but not anymore. Besides, there are other advantages to living together, like… financially, it would cost less, and, and if we needed to, we could carpool to work, or—"

He stopped talking abruptly. Abby had hugged him, both arms tight around his neck. "Yes, McGee," she said, softly but firmly.

"Um, what?" McGee managed, confused. "Abby?"

She pulled away, smiling at him. "You're asking me to move in with you, aren't you? And I say yes."

It took a moment for this to register. "Oh. _Oh_. I mean, I was thinking we could get a place of our own."

Abby beamed, and linked her elbow through McGee's. "Can we start looking today?"

Three weeks later, the last of the boxes had been moved. The house was a small, two-bedroom on the corner, in a quiet suburb of D.C., a fifteen-minute drive from NCIS headquarters. Abby's coffin had been set up in the spare room, and McGee's typewriter was sitting in the office. The shutters had been painted a cheerful cherry red, there were lace curtains- black lace, of course- in the windows, and some more traditional paintings amid Abby's usual prints.

Ziva had cooked them supper the first night there, which she and Tony brought over in covered dishes. Ducky had shown up next, bearing a potted plant. ("Aloe, my dear," he told Abby, "it has medicinal value, as well, it can be used for—") He was interrupted from further explanation by Gibbs, who handed McGee an unwrapped bottle of bourbon before kissing Abby on the cheek. Jenny Shepherd arrived a few minutes later with a chocolate cake. Last to arrive were Jimmy Palmer, followed a moment later by Michelle Lee, who both held bouquets of black roses.

Abby put the roses in water, thanking everyone and asking them all if they wanted more to drink. McGee stood a little awkwardly to the side, content to let her be in charge while he ducked Tony's teasing- at least until Ziva conscripted the senior field agent into being her assistant.

Later that night, as McGee was cleaning up, he glanced out the window, at the street. He remembered the neat little house and white picket fence he had wanted as a child, and laughed suddenly. Then, a thought struck him.

"Abby?" he called, into the next room. "What do you think about putting in a wrought iron fence?"


End file.
